


Keep Me In Your Confidence

by ratherastory



Category: Cracked, Cracked (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-30
Updated: 2013-03-30
Packaged: 2017-12-07 00:12:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/741833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratherastory/pseuds/ratherastory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scene from 1.10. Aidan wishes he'd asked Daniella to stay instead of letting her get a cab home, but maybe not for the reasons anyone thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep Me In Your Confidence

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings:  Minor spoilers for Episode 1.10, _Inquest_.  
>  Neurotic Author's Note #1:  This is my first crack at _Cracked_ fanfic (hah, see what I did there?), and as far as I know this is probably the second piece of fanfic that's ever been written for the show. I'm basically just trying to get a sense of the characters, to see what they're like.  
>  Neurotic Author's Note #2:  I'm not sure I did the characters justice, and especially not the quiet, intimate atmosphere of that little scene. It warmed my heart, though, and gives me hope for them in the future, so I wanted to write a little something for it, to give myself some closure.  
> Neurotic Author's Note #3:  I'll be very impressed if anyone reads this. If you do and you haven't seen the show yet, let me know if you'd like me to hook you up with some of the episodes. :)

He should have asked her to stay. Aidan knows this the minute Daniella has turned the corner and wobbled out of sight in search of a taxi. There was something there, and he's not sure what it was, but all he knows that he should have asked her to stay—let her crash on his couch after they'd both had even more to drink.

Aidan drops back onto his couch and pours himself another glass of bourbon. It's too late to ask her what the "rough patch" was that she went through instead of going backpacking through Europe, the way she'd planned. He's probably never going to ask her now—the moment has passed. It's a terrible world they live in, he thinks, when even someone like Daniella has to deflect the spotlight so her pain won't be laid bare for the whole world to see. He can understand that, though, laughing so that you won't scream or burst into tears or put your hand through the nearest windowpane. She does it with a little laugh and a flutter of her hands, a chirp of 'Your turn!' that really means 'I can't talk about this or I may fly apart into a million pieces, and I'm not sure I can put myself back together again.' He thinks he understands that better than she knows, but it's not his decision to make, whether or not she trusts him to hold her together, or to help sweep up the pieces after.

Aidan hears screaming in his mind again, and blood sprays across the floor of the bus. He's staring at the little boy's glasses—he doesn't know his name, won't learn it for several days—and he can't bring himself to look away, to tear his eyes from where the glasses are lying in a pool of congealing blood. The kids are still screaming when Team Seven pushes past him and someone, he'll never remember who, grabs him by the shoulders and steers him off the bus and back into the street. He can still remember staring, uncomprehending, as the sun reflected off the asphalt on the street. He couldn't understand how it could still be shining, after everything that had happened.

The flashbacks never last more than a few seconds, but it always feels like an eternity.

First one in a long time. He wonders if he should have lied to her, reassured her that he was fine, the way he reassures everyone, but it never occurred to him to be anything but truthful with her. No, I have them all the time. She's his partner, he trusts her. Oh, Aidan. Her hand was warm on his shoulder, comforting in a way that he hasn't felt since before… well, since a long time.

She's gone now, and he should have asked her to stay. He trusts her, but she doesn't return the favour, not yet. He can't really blame her for that—he barely trusts himself, most days. He'd like her to know he'll have her back, that he'll let her sleep off too many glasses of bourbon on his sofa, that he'll break as many windows and beat the living crap out of as many people as it takes to keep her safe. It probably scares her a little, he knows this, but it's the only thing he knows how to do. Keeping people safe is all he's got to offer them, and that's why he spent over two weeks following school buses in his car, creeping along behind them and watching as the red lights flashed and the little stop signs unfolded from the sides of the bus. He tries not to wonder what she thought of his revelation.

I just wanted to make sure the kids got to school safe, you know?

His glass is empty again. He fills it, shakes out the bottle when he realizes it's empty. He doesn't think Daniella had more than three glasses, which means he's definitely had too much. He'll be going to the inquest hung over unless he makes a point of getting some water, and right now it feels like too much effort. A hangover is a small price to pay to watch Dr. Daniella Ridley get tipsy and nostalgic on his sofa, to watch her let her guard down for just those few seconds; when she trusted him enough to feel safe for just those few seconds. She looked good with her hair about her shoulders, soft in the glow from the lamp, and he'd wanted to reach out and tuck a stray strand of it behind her ear, but that's not the kind of relationship they have, and he's pretty sure she wouldn't have taken kindly to the gesture.

I should go.

She'd said it softly, with regret, but she meant it, and he wasn't about to keep her here against her will. Nor could he follow her all the way home, make sure she got there safely. God only knows what Caligra would do if she found out his new habit of keeping everybody under surveillance. School buses, Nick de Soto, now Daniella. She'd probably get Daniella to talk to him, to say 'You can't make yourself responsible for everyone, Aidan,' in that same gentle tone she always uses whenever the light shines through his cracks a little more brightly than usual.

He drains the last of the bourbon and carefully sets the glass down on the coffee table, pleased when he succeeds at not breaking it. He's still steady on his feet when he goes into his bedroom and strips down to his boxers, hanging his suit up in the closet. He only has one good suit, and he can't afford to ruin it now, not while the inquest is ongoing. The minute he's sure the suit is safe he lets himself fall onto the bed, mashing his face into the pillow.

He'll sleep tonight, nightmares or no, the alcohol will see to that, but he's acutely conscious of the empty space in his living room where he wishes Daniella had stayed. Tomorrow, he tells himself as he begins to feel sleep tugging at the edges of his consciousness. Tomorrow he'll tell her that he wants her to feel safe with him, because he's never felt safer with anyone else. Tomorrow he'll make all this right.


End file.
